


father

by glasvegi



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blood and Violence, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasvegi/pseuds/glasvegi
Summary: Mac keeps having troubling, reoccurring dreams. Heavily inspired by Father by The Front Bottoms.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	father

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for graphic violence! Not messing around with that one. It's gross. 
> 
> I've been getting really into The Front Bottoms and I love angsty Mac stories. This was going to happen eventually.

_Mac’s breath catches in his chest and he brings the bat down, smashing it into his father’s face. It doesn’t have any weight as it moves through the air. He can’t feel the impact in his hands like he should. He knows he should feel it in his hands like when he would hit the fence behind his house, or mailboxes hanging out the side of Dennis’s car growing up, but he can’t feel it. His dad starts to yell for help and Mac swings it into his teeth._

Mac wakes up panting, shivering under the sheets. Those bright blue eyes burn from the picture on his bedside table. When the sun pokes through the bare windows, he pulls out a loose leaf sheet, smooths the crumpled corners, and starts writing. 

Dennis is pouring a cup of coffee when Mac comes out of his room, folding the envelope shut. 

“Another one? That’s like, four this week, dude.” 

“Yeah?” Mac puts the letter on the table and closes the bathroom door behind him. The tap sticks but he gets the shower going. The water runs hot then warm then cool and then cold, and Mac stands from the floor of the shower. His joints are stiff, his skin numb to the touch. Dennis has left when he opens the bathroom door. The envelope is gone. 

_He goes for the teeth right away this time. Mac reaches down and wipes blood away from his dad’s eyes, fingers brushing the split bone that crests above his brow. The blood is viscous, clinging to his fingers like mucous and he wipes them on his pants. They’re tux pants. His white shirt is stained. Luther struggles to turn over, pulling himself away on his hands and trembling knees and Mac tightens his grip on the bat._

Hey dad, how are you doing? Miss you. Mom says she loves you and hopes you come home soon. She wants me to say that. I know you love me and want to hear from me. It’s me, Mac. I’ve been praying for you, and they’re probably gonna come true really soon because I’ve been really cranking those out. Hope you’ve been doing your stretches, because I’m ready for that ball game you always wanted but never had the time for. 

_Unfocused eyes stare back at Mac. He won’t go down. Mac swings again and again, bone cracking and giving way to whatever’s underneath, but he’s still standing there. An unsteady swing and Luther smirks, steps back, and Mac goes tumbling down. The bat clatters to the ground, clinking like glass on concrete. The air congeals around him and he can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t breathe. His dad looks down at him. Blue eyes focus, blood caked onto the whites of his eyes but the blue is so, so bright._

_“Better luck next time, son.”_

Mac pulls out his bible as he wipes the eye gunk away, eyes already sore and sunken. The words on the page are a blur to his aching eyes and when he focuses them, they don’t mean anything. But he shoves a finger into the middle of a line and reads it, mouthing the words as they pass under his hand and they don’t mean anything, but he has to keep going. His eye twinges like a pin prick and he presses them shut— 

_Slick with blood, the bat slips in his hands—_

He opens his eyes wide as he turns the page. 

_and his dad pushes him off, stands and turns to walk away. Mac digs the bat into the soft ground—_

Flipping through the pages, words poke through but they’re all separate, divorced from each other as he desperately searches for something before it catches up to him, he has to get away from it before— 

_his knuckles whiten as he stands. He steps forward and tightens his grip._

Mac reaches down and touches the dark grey spots on the page, rippling the text. His hand comes away wet and he wipes his face with the back of his hand. 

“Mac, I swear if you used all the goddamn paper towels and didn’t buy more, I’m—” Dennis stops in the doorway, stopping short as he swings the door open. He stumbles. “Ah, shit.” 

Mac doesn’t look up. The door closes and Dennis’s footsteps fade back into the apartment. 

He takes Mac’s next letter without comment. He buys more paper towels. 

_They’re sitting at the dinner table. The house looks like it did when Mac was a kid; his mom looks like she does now, sitting in her miasma as she lights a new cigarette off the stub of her previous one. Dad sits at the head of the table staring past the TV, past the wall and the front door and all the parallel streets. He’s holding a fork in one hand. Knife in the other. There’s no food on the table. Mac stands. He’s already holding the bat._

Mac sits at the kitchen table hammering shot after shot. Maybe if he passes out on the sofa, he won’t do it again. If he passes out on the floor, maybe he’ll just sleep. If he falls asleep right here at the table and Dennis has to step over him to get to bed, maybe there will be hours of nothing and then he’ll wake up. 

“Whoa,” Dennis laughs. “Night’s just getting started, bro.” He pours himself a heaping shot and downs it. 

Mac holds his hand out, waiting for the bottle. 

“Alright, what’s this shit, Mac? What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, okay? I’m just— I just wanna get drunk and…” He shakes his head. 

“Come on. You’ve been such a bitch, and it’s getting on my nerves.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Mac sighs, rubs at his eyes. “Can we just get drunk, Dennis? Can we do that, or do we have to talk about your pussy feelings all night?” 

“Jesus, fine.” Dennis rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to be an asshole.” 

Mac grabs the bottle. 

He does not have hours of nothing. Everything is looser; the colors are brighter and Mac moves like he’s underwater. When blood starts to fall, it sprays like a tap. Luther is screaming. The bat swings down and to the side and starts to break through his ribs. He’s calling out but there’s no sound. The bat is in Mac’s hand and he’s standing over his dad on the ground. Luther tries to throw him off, tries to get up, but Mac is heavy and he is strong. He puts a foot on his dad’s chest and keeps swinging. He is strong. His foot stops moving up and down with the chest underneath and Mac stands with both feet on the ground. Takes a deep breath, wipes the spray of blood off his face. He throws the bat to the side. When it clatters to the ground, the sound sends him waking into the hazy gray night. 

“No letter today?” Dennis looks up from the laptop, blowing the steam off a cup of coffee. 

Mac shakes his head. 

_Hi dad, it’s me. Mac, your son. I love you. How is prison? You’re probably fine, right? You’re always fine. That’s what you told me. You’re a fighter._

The cracking of cartilage. Nose under his heavy boot— 

_I saw mom yesterday and I asked if she’s been writing you too. I’m not sure what she meant, but I think she’s open to it. She’ll think about it, probably._

His stomach lurches and rises in his throat but the coppery smell is familiar now. It means he’s dreaming. 

_I’m sending some stamps if you want to write me back. I drew you a picture for you to hang up in your room._

His father’s face is a map of broken and bleeding things. 

_It’s me, beating you with a baseball bat._

**Author's Note:**

> I read a tumblr post the other day about how you don't get better by trying to perfect one thing— you get better through doing, even if that means what you make isn't perfect at first. (This is the post. I highly recommend reading it if you haven't already: https://glasvegi.tumblr.com/post/189856819648/darkandstormyslash-fireandlifeincarnate ) Anyway, I've been trying to perfect this fic for about two weeks now and I think it's time to just let it be. Hopefully, I'll be posting more of my fic in the coming weeks— I have a werewolf/vampire AU, some Dee/Ingrid high school stuff, and *crosses fingers* more chapters of Mac and Dennis Fake Date. (I also have potential vignettes for the rest of the gang based on this same song, but hopefully I'll prioritize other things.) Writing has just been a cycle of writing, hating what I've written, and rewriting it, hating it, and I'm hoping to break out of that. I hope you enjoyed this shitty pot. I have a tumblr and a twitter: glasvegi.tumblr.com, and @glasvegi.


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